CHAPTER 1
Had My Life Ended?
For most teenagers in Australia during the 1970s, life was great. They were discovering what life was all about by going to discos, parties, sporting events, and of course the beach.
In 1978, I was 17 years of age. After Dad took me to the GP, my health got progressively worse. I threw up at least once or twice on most days and couldn't hold down any food. I got cramps in my legs and didn't have any energy.
My uncle had a heart attack and passed away in South Africa, so my mum had to go to the funeral and support her family. My brother Pearse moved home to be with my dad. Dad wasn't sure what was wrong with me, just that I was pretty sick.
I got worse, and my dad got more worried. He had a tendency to think that things would be fine and being sick was only temporary. After all, the GP had said that I was fine. Dad tried giving me different food. I believe he thought I might be allergic to what I was eating, possibly because the GP suggested as much.
I saw the GP in May or June. By November, both my ankles were swollen about three times their normal size. I hadn't seen any other doctor at that point, but I was definitely very sick. I had no idea what was going on. It was getting near my exams and I needed to study, but I couldn't focus at all.
The day before my life was turned upside down, I went to school as usual. The first lesson was maths. As I sat down, my teacher said – I thought jokingly – 'You look a bit green today, Phil. Are you OK?' I laughed it off and prepared for the class.
Before the end of the class, a head office representative came into the office and said that Dad had made an appointment for me to see another doctor. I had to meet him at the front office after class.
I was totally unaware of what that appointment would mean for my future. It certainly changed my life.
As my dad drove me to the doctor, he was unaccustomedly quiet. When we got to the surgery, we were taken straight in. The nurse took my blood pressure and I gave a urine sample. After checking out my ankles, the doctor rang the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital to discover when I could see a specialist. He then took a blood sample and told me I needed to stay home from school and come back the next day for the results.
I didn't sleep very well that night; I was throwing up, having leg cramps, and the usual symptoms. At least we were due to see the doctor in the morning. When my dad and I walked into the surgery the next day, the doctor had already arranged me to be admitted to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital Renal Unit for tests. He wanted my dad, who was getting very worried by that stage, to take me to the hospital. We did so after stopping at home so I could pick up the stuff that I thought I would need for one night. I was wrong ... When I was admitted, the medical staff did a whole lot of tests, as they suspected that I had a problem with my kidneys. It looked like I was in end stage kidney failure, but they weren't sure if it was permanent. I was in shock, and I think my dad was in shock as well. I can't remember much about that first day, apart from the fact that part of me was relieved. Another part of me was angry at the first doctor for diagnosing a sprained ankle when my health issue had nothing to do with a sprain.
The main problem at that point was that I was not passing any urine. I was just retaining f luid. The toxins in my blood were very high. They decided the one way to bring the toxins down quickly was to put me on peritoneal dialysis.
In those days, peritoneal dialysis was quite primitive. They inserted a hard plastic cannula, or tube, into my peritoneum. The peritoneum is a membrane that lines the walls of the abdominal and pelvic cavities in the human torso. In dialysis of this kind, the cavities are filled with a liquid that draws toxins and waste products through the membrane, so they can be removed. I was not entirely clear about the process. The urea and creatinine building up in my body were probably impacting my thinking.
My first peritoneal treatment went on overnight. The worst part was when the f luid was removed from my peritoneum. They used a small pump to suck on the inside of my abdomen, which was very painful. These days peritoneal dialysis is a very gentle treatment used by a large number of dialysis patients as part of their normal regime.
The one thing that was still working for me was my appreciation of attractive women, especially nurses, and there were a few. The nurses seemed to enjoy looking after me, which I didn't mind at all.
After more tests and probably a week or so of dialysis treatments, the doctors had enough information to confirm what was wrong with me. I expected good news. There was another young bloke in the same ward who had come in with end stage renal failure as well, and they had just told him that it was only temporary. He was going to be fine. In my head, that was the way it was going to pan out for me as well.
When the doctors came in to tell me and my dad the results of the examinations, they basically said that my kidneys had shrunk, which they believed was due to what they called 'reflux neuropathy'. That was the cause of my end stage renal failure. They couldn't understand how I had not come in earlier – my blood results were extremely toxic, and any normal person would have been dead. So in one sense I was lucky.
I thought they could do something to increase my kidney function, and I would be fine like the other young guy in the ward. But it wasn't meant to be for me. It could have been a scene from Star Trek, but sci-fi did not come to my rescue. On the positive side, though, the other young guy really was fine.
After they confirmed that I had no way of living my life without some form of dialysis or a kidney transplant, our family had a lot of things to consider. Mum and Lin returned from South Africa, my brother Josh came back from Penang, and Luke returned from where he was working in Fiji.
This was one of the most emotional times that I can recall in my life. My whole family was there to support me, and I didn't feel so alone.
I really liked music when I was 17, and my favourite musician was James Taylor. Josh brought me a James Taylor tape from his travels in Penang. It had the song 'You've Got a Friend' on it. I remember lying in bed, listening to it over and over again, during the lead-up to the doctors telling me about my options. I used to just cry because I was so worried, but I was also happy that I wasn't alone.
Each member of my family offered to provide a kidney for a transplant. But I felt that I was still young and tough, so I could handle a short period on dialysis. I felt I would get a transplant without too much of a problem. I also didn't want to affect their lives. So I decided to go on dialysis.
As part of that...
